


the sea awaits

by twistedroses



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:17:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedroses/pseuds/twistedroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess Emma is captured by Black Knights and thrown into a jail cell to await certain death at the hands of the Evil Queen, but in her neighbouring cell mate Emma finds something much different than the end of her life. AU; Hook’s story takes place in “modern” times. In this one, he has not met Milah and is still only Captain Jones, not Hook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sea awaits

**Author's Note:**

> A oneshot I posted on tumblr previously in the summer of 2014; this is just a more permanent place for it. I also made a few slight changes, but hardly anything noticeable. I also don't know how to use this site, so I'm not entirely sure I know what I'm doing.

It took several moments for Emma to even realize she was awake. She lay still, gazing up at the stony sky above as slowly her mind stopped whirring from the darkness of sleep. It was still dark out, her surroundings lit only by the fading embers of her campfire. Ah, still night, then. Emma stared up at the rocky roof, blinking slowly and trying to shake the heaviness from her eyes. Her head was throbbing with pain and the rhythmic _drip-drop_ from the stream nearby was quite soothing. She closed her eyes again, attempting to drift off into some sort of sleep where her head would hopefully hurt less and perhaps –

Wait.

_A stone sky?_

Emma’s eyes snapped open again and she sat up, staring frantically around her, suddenly not sleepy at all anymore. Above her was not a sky at all, but rather a sturdy stone ceiling that was most certainly not the bright starry sky it should have been. She gaped at it and, for several wild moments, had no idea where she was. As her focus sharpened, eyes spinning wildly about her, adrenaline making the blood pound in her ears, she realized it – she was in a dungeon.

It was a dark and dirty place from all Emma could see; there were only two cells in sight, hers, and the one to her left that was, as far as she could tell, unoccupied. A high window stood at least two metres out of reach between the two, and even if Emma jumped she knew wouldn’t be able to get to it. Instead of a dying campfire, it was flickering torches on the old stone walls that illuminated the space with that eerie orange glow. The corridor in front of the cells was lit with more torches, and Emma could hear the faint laughter and conversation of the dungeon guards down and around the bend. It was damp down here, the smell strong and nearly overpowering, and the comfortable _drip-drop_ of water she had heard was from a leak in the ceiling off to the left, not the trickle of a creek.

Her head was still hurting, and heart quickening with dread, but Emma scrambled to her feet, ignoring the head rush it caused, and dashed to the cell door. It was locked with a heavy iron deadbolt nearly the size of Emma’s fist. She desperately tugged at the lock, shaking the whole door in its frame, but to no avail; she only wound up with a greasy black coating on her hands and a door still firmly locked. Swallowing the panic before it threatened to overwhelm her, she pulled at it again. And again. And again.

“It’s no use.”

Emma jumped a foot in surprise, stumbling backwards and whirling to face where the voice had come from. There was no one she could see, but hesitantly, Emma took a step closer to the bars that separated her cell from the one beside. In her haste, she had just assumed the cell adjacent was empty; clearly, it was not. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, a man sitting propped up against the opposing wall, nearly totally concealed in the shadows, came into focus. He was maybe a couple years older than herself, and was very handsome, Emma noted, if a bit grungy from being (by the look of him) in a dungeon for at least a couple of days.

“What?” she asked stupidly, so taken aback that she wasn’t alone that she didn’t recall what he had said.

Sighing, he inclined his head towards the cell doors. “It’s no use. I’ve tried everything I can think of to get the locks to open.”

He spoke with an accent, one Emma had heard before but couldn’t place off the top of her head, and his tone was uninterested. Emma set her jaw and turned back to the door. “There has to be a way out,” she said firmly. “You can’t have tried everything.”

The man got to his feet, brushing off dark pants as he came to stand between their cells, arms resting carelessly on the bars. “Well, no,” he admitted. “I haven’t tried magic. So, unless you’ve got some of that, we’re –”

“You’re in luck,” she said swiftly, with a smirk over her shoulder. “Because I’ve got loads of magic.”

The man’s mouth gaped open in disbelief, and he looked her up and down. “You’ve –”

“Watch and learn,” she muttered, staring at the heavy locks. In her mind’s eye, she focused hard on them; saw the unlocking motion, the door swinging wide to let her escape, the creaking she imagined they’d make even seeping into her mind. Her eyes drifted shut, and the familiar warmth of magic flickered its way down her arms and to her fingertips. She could feel the magic pooling in the palms of her hands and with one final thought about what she wanted to do, she released it.

But, when she opened her eyes, the door was still firmly locked.

The high from using magic was gone instantaneously, replaced swiftly with a coursing dread and disbelief that left her with a hollow emptiness deep in her belly. She stared at the doors, dumbfounded.

“I don’t understand,” she said unnecessarily. Her magic always worked, always. The Blue Fairy herself had trained her as a child, calling Emma one of the most powerful sorceresses to walk the earth: Emma’s magic was borne from True Love, coupled with the enchanted water of Lake Nostos that had allowed her birth. There had never been anything Emma couldn’t do with her powers.

“I thought you said you had magic,” the man said mildly.

“I do,” Emma snapped, shooting him a dark look. She flexed her fingers, turning back to the door. “I just don’t know why it’s not working on the lock.”

“Perhaps the queen’s got a few more tricks up her sleeve than you, love.”

She ignored him, and focused intently again on the locks, felt the warmth of magic beginning to course through her. But, like last time, nothing happened. Emma swallowed – what would she do if this didn’t work? – and began to focus again. However, after four more attempts with no change at all (save for an increase in emotional stress) Emma was forced to admit that perhaps the man was correct – there really was no way out. She sat down in a huff, resting her chin on her palm and glaring at the locked door.

To his credit, the man made no remarks about her failure, just simply shuffled over so that he was sitting beside the bars between their cells. “Now, don’t give up yet,” he said, lightly. “There’s no use wasting what little time you may have left trying the same old strategy again. Give it a little rest, and perhaps you’ll come to another conclusion … although if magic cannot open the door, I do not know what in our means can that I haven’t tried.”

Emma shot him an irritated look. “You aren’t being very helpful.”

He shrugged. “I’m just being realistic.”

“Shut up,” Emma muttered, looking at the door again. “I’m concentrating.” She could almost sense him rolling his eyes; she gritted her teeth and stared once more at the cell door, firmly ignoring him.

She was both angry and annoyed that her magic was failing her, but what really bothered her was the near stranglehold of fear she could feel rising up inside. If she couldn’t use magic to escape from the cell, she was in the worst situation possible.

Emma shoved the thoughts away, breathing deeply, and trying to focus on anything other than that. The pain in her head was a good distraction; she must’ve been hit pretty hard, Emma realized. The memory of how she had been captured had been slowly trickling back to her, but there were still gaps where there should not have been. For the past few weeks, she had been scouting out the borders with a few of her guards, and the previous afternoon (at least, she assumed it was the previous afternoon … how long had she been unconscious?) she had foolishly taken a small walk to the stream alone for some fresh water. There was the faint memory of rustling in the brush behind her, and then a sharp pain in her head, but her memory ended there.

Her parents would be devastated when they learned what had happened. She was their only child, the adored princess of the realm, the future queen. It had taken a good deal of convincing to have them agree to letting Emma embark on a scouting mission with no less than a full army, and now, as Emma held onto her arms tightly to stop her body from shaking in fear, she saw why they had been so hesitant. A crown princess, no less the daughter of Snow White, was a prize for anyone to capture; someone had probably been watching her for days and waiting until she was alone for the opportunity to seize her.

Even though Emma had a suspicion of where exactly they were – they were near the borders of a particularly nasty enemy – she turned to the man, who had been watching her curiously. He carefully schooled his expression into one of boredom. “Thought of something new, have we?”

Emma ignored his quip. “Where are we?” she demanded. “Whose dungeon is this?”

He raised a single eyebrow. “The guards really knocked you hard, didn’t they?” Emma glared coldly, and he held up his hands up in defence. “Ah, still sensitive, I see. My apologies, my lady. This lovely dungeon is that of the Evil Queen.”

Emma’s heart sank, and she looked fearfully to the door again. Just as she had dreaded. Her mother’s estranged stepmother who was still bitter and out for blood after nearly three decades. Great. Just fantastic. Exactly who Emma wanted to be captured by. A princess lost in a dungeon with no means to escape was bad enough, but if she was trapped by the Evil Queen, then no amount of a ransom would be able to save her.

The man must’ve seen her face, because he shifted his weight so that he was closer to the bars. “Hey, hey. Deep breaths, love. There’s no need to panic yet.” He was unexpectedly sincere and gentle, quite the sudden shift in attitude that surprised Emma.  “Daylight is hours away; much can change in that amount of time.”

She shook her head, blinking away tears of frustration in a fury that they had betrayed her so easily. “Not enough. If magic won’t open these doors …”

“Don’t,” the man said firmly, resting a hand on her forearm. “Don’t, love. Focus on something else. Your thoughts will lead you to a worse doom.” He paused, and then lifted his hand from her forearm, reaching out for a handshake. “What’s your name? I’m Killian.”

Emma eyed his outstretched hand distrustfully, before reaching out to take it after a long moment. His grip was strong, fingers rough and calloused. “Emma,” she said simply, seeing no harm in mentioning her first name; there were lots of girls her age named such; all, as it were, named after her. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but –”

“– current situations do not usually contribute to pleasurable meetings,” Killian interjected, cutting Emma off with a roguish smile. “Especially not in the dungeon of Queen Regina.” He leaned back from the bars then, releasing Emma’s hand which she hadn’t even realized he’d still been grasping. “But it’s a pleasure to meet you all the same, Emma.”

Emma searched for any hidden meaning to his words, but even with her superpower, she couldn’t detect any dishonesty in his voice. Taken slightly aback, she simply nodded, feeling suddenly awkward. She cleared her throat. “So what did you do to end up down here?”

He scowled, but appeared sufficiently distracted. “Ah, well, our dear queen is a bit of a hypocrite. Help her once and you are her best mate; betray her once, and you are her worst enemy.”

Emma tensed. An ally of Queen Regina usually meant an enemy of Snow White, and hence, herself. “You worked for her?”

Absently, he waved a hand. “Once upon a time. Not any more. Not ever again.” He looked far away then, lost in whatever thoughts and memories had surely resulted in him sitting next to her in the cell, but quickly came out of it. “And you, Emma? What on earth could a pretty lass like you have done to get yourself locked up in the Evil Queen’s dungeon?”

She hesitated, fidgeting with the coarse fabric of her light tunic. Thankfully, she had only been wearing simple clothing while out with the guards; none of her usual royal gowns that instantly would have identified her as a member of the nobility. There was no way she was telling him who she really was; she didn’t know who he was – like her, he had only provided a simple first name, and if he had worked for the Evil Queen in the past, he was likely not a friend to her, no matter their current similar situations.

“Stole some things,” she muttered finally.

When she offered nothing more, Killian just nodded. “Ah. Yes, that would indeed indict the wrath of the queen. She is rather particular about her baubles.” There was an odd gleam to his eye and a slight condescending edge to his voice; it was apparent he didn’t believe her for a moment, but he let it slide. Emma felt strangely grateful for that.

“You and I are alike, then,” he continued, gracefully going along with her lie, and, at her questioning look, added, “Thieves.” He paused, thoughtful. “Well, I suppose thievery is the least of my crimes.”

“Is it?” Emma asked, amused despite herself. “And what would be the worst of them?”

Killian laughed. “Ah, love; our few remaining hours are not enough time to tell you all my crimes.” He paused, and then held up a hand as if counting down, grinning drolly. “But to name a few: robbery, forgery, embezzlement, piracy, arson –”

“You’re a pirate?” Emma interrupted, leaning back to get a better look at him. She had never met a pirate before, but had grown up on tales of the ruthless Blackbeard and Locker run by the coldblooded immortal Davey Jones. Killian was nothing like those stories; he was only a couple years older than her own twenty years at most, and all pirates she’d grown up hearing about were all withered old men with bitterness carved into their bones.

He was grinning at her, apparently quite delighted to have caught Emma off guard. “Ah, yes. I am indeed a pirate; _captain_ , to be specific.”

She gaped at him, still surprised. “I wouldn’t have thought that,” she said finally. “You don’t seem the type.”

“The type to be a pirate in jail?” he asked, amused. “You should mention that to Queen Regina; she’ll most probably have a different opinion.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I meant because you are so young.” She tilted her head, staring curiously at him. Even if she was trapped and destined for certain death at the hands of a tyrannical queen and probably shouldn’t have been focused on anything but escape, there was something about him, a feeling that drew her even closer to the bars between them and made her want to know more. He was in the same situation as her, alone and terrified of what the morning would bring even if he wouldn’t admit it, and maybe it was just the feeling of camaraderie formed between two doomed souls that made her interested. Perhaps it was simply because she knew she was going to die and her humanity couldn’t let her suffer the painful wait by herself, but whatever it was, she didn’t feel so alone with him in the cell beside her and for that she was thankful.

“Have you always been a pirate?”

He glanced sharply up to her, the amusement fading from his eyes instantly, a hardened shell coming down around him even as Emma watched. “No.”

It was a clear warning for Emma to stop pursuing the issue, but she ignored it. “How did you become one?”

He was rubbing his jaw absently, and firmly not looking at her. “The usual way,” he muttered finally. “Decried a monarch, stole a ship, rose a crimson flag.”

“But why?” Emma pressed. “Everyone has a reason. Was it for the treasure? The women? The glory? Aren’t those usually what pirates are after?”

Killian snorted. “Those are just added perks.” He sighed, and Emma could feel the mood around them darken. When he spoke again after a long moment, his voice was quiet and pensive. “It is a long and dark tale; I doubt you want to know it.” She opened her mouth to disagree, but he cut her off. “And you, Emma? What do you do, other than steal things?” His voice was light now, teasing almost, but there was still a serious edge undercutting it.

“I’m – I’m just a farm girl,” she said falteringly. “No one special.”

He was staring at her so intensely with those strikingly blue eyes and it made Emma feel like he could see straight into her soul and knew everything about her already. “A farm girl,” he repeated slowly. “And what could a farm girl have stolen to make the queen so furious as to throw you in her deepest dungeon?”

“Uh … well, she has this necklace …” Emma said, lamely. “I thought I could sell it. She – her guards caught me as I was trying to get out of the palace.”

Killian nodded slowly, a dry smile lifting his features. “And yet, you did not know what dungeon you were in when you awoke.”

Emma opened her mouth and then closed it again. _Damn_. “I – well, the guards –”

“Don’t worry,” he said, speaking over her mumbles. “I know Regina well enough to know she would never throw a simple thief into this dungeon; she would have roasted you with that nasty fireball of hers on the spot. Your secrets, whatever they are, can remain your own.”

A loud rustling from down the hall caught Emma’s attention, and she looked away from Killian, still incredibly flustered at being caught in the lie. Instantly, that thought vanished from her mind; four of Regina’s infamous Black Knights, dressed head to toe in their terrifying gear, were marching down the corridor towards the cells.

She glanced up at the window to gage the time; the cool light of dawn was just beginning to peek into the cells. Emma turned back to stare defiantly at the approaching guards, ready to put up a hell of a fight, but they weren’t even looking at her.

“Up you get, pirate.”

Killian looked slowly away from the window where he had followed Emma’s gaze, and then smiled winningly at the guards. “I’m quite comfortable here, thanks. Maybe another day.”

One of them chuckled, and gestured to another to unlock the cell door. “Come now, Jones. Don’t want to keep the hangman waiting; he’s a very busy man.”

The pirate’s eyes darkened at that, but he put up no fight as the guards shoved him to his feet. Emma hung onto the bars, watching helplessly as the guards pulled Killian out of the cell. She didn’t understand why he wasn’t fighting them, trying at least to break free, but even as she watched, Killian suddenly burst into action. Wrenching his arms free in a swift movement, he punched the guard to his left and spun around and kicked the one on the other side before they had time to react. Both yelled and stepped back into the path of the other guards, and in the moments they were all distracted, Killian pulled the ring of keys from the nearest one’s belt and threw them towards Emma.

It was sheer luck they soared through the bars, landing with a loud jangle on the opposite side of the cell. Emma looked back to the guards in panic, but they were too busy regrouping themselves to notice anything amiss.

Emma’s hands were shaking, but she didn’t waste a moment. Getting to her feet would take too much time so she crawled over to the keys and closed her hand around the cold iron ring. A sharp cry made her look up; Killian had been restrained again, two of the guards holding his arms while a third, the largest of them all, delivered swift blows to his gut.

Horror and rage bubbled in Emma, and she was on her feet instantly. “Stop it!” she cried, running to the front bars.

The guards completely ignored her, but Killian looked up. He was gasping and grimacing in pain, sweat already dotting his forehead and sticking his hair to his forehead.

“Emma, don’t –”

The guard punched him again, cutting off his words with a pained grunt. “Shut it, you.” He gestured to the other guards who began walking again, basically dragging Killian as they walked too quickly for him to really get a good foothold.

Emma watched for a moment, unable to do anything, before kicking herself into action. The keys were slippery in her grasp and there were roughly a dozen on the ring. She had no idea which one opened her cell – hell, if any of them did – but there was no other hope for her or for Killian.

The first four keys didn’t fit at all. With each failure, listening to Killian and the guards walk further and further away, the brutes laughing at Killian’s now wheezy breath, Emma’s panic and fear increased tenfold. But finally, on the fifth key, the lock clicked and a crashing wave of relief descended.

She wrenched the door open, stepping free and instantly raising her hands. Her magic was already raring to go, driven by the adrenaline and fear, but just like in the cell, when Emma tried to send some sort of force towards the guards, nothing at all happened.

Frustrated – _okay, so it’s not just the cell_ – Emma abandoned the magic plan altogether. She looked around, trying to find something for a weapon, and her gaze fell on the torches on the walls. They weren’t attached with iron bolts like some she had seen; these ones could be removed and that’s exactly what she needed.

She ran across the room, and as Emma removed the torch from its holder, she nearly dropped it. It was much heavier than she expected, but heaviness was exactly what was needed. It was lit still and could possibly have drawn more attention to herself, but there was no way to douse it. Taking a deep breath, Emma turned around and began running down the hall after the guards.

The largest guard who had unlocked the gate was the one at the rear of the procession. She sized him up quickly; he was much taller than her, but that couldn’t be helped. She had momentum and enough adrenaline running through her that she could have taken down someone twice his size. And, luckily for her and unluckily for him, he was too busy mocking Killian to his fellows that, even though Emma wasn’t being subtle at all about her approach, he didn’t notice a thing. Using her running start, as she reached him, Emma jumped and swung the torch like a bat.

The hit was strong; the guard went down almost instantly, the loud crack of iron torch against his upper back filling the small dungeon space with nearly three times the normal sound. The force of the hit reverberated up her arms, making her teeth rattle, and she dropped the torch.

The other guards were looking back now too, and they dropped Killian’s arms; with no support, he crumbled to the ground. He lay on the ground, panting, while the other guards approached Emma.

“Shouldn’t have done that, missy,” one of them snarled, drawing his sword, the others following suit.

Her only weapon had rolled away when she dropped it, but Emma was not going to be taken so easily. She straightened her back, and stared haughtily at the guards. She was backing up, trying to buy more time and think of something else, when the guard at the back of the approaching trio cried out and fell to the ground, his sword clattering to the ground.

Killian was on his feet again. One hand was clutching at his stomach, but the other was grasping the sword from the guard Emma had hit with her torch, the blade dripping with blood.

In the momentary shock of the two remaining guards that two of their fellows had been knocked out in the space of roughly one minute, Killian kicked the fallen sword towards Emma, it skittering and sliding along the rough floor.

“Know how to use a sword?”

But there was no time to talk; one guard lunged for each of them. Emma just had time to avoid a nasty strike from the guard who had chosen her, the wind from it ruffling her hair as she dove to the ground and rolled towards the sword. She scrambled for it, bringing it up to parry another blow just in time, the screech of metal loud and abrasive. The guard lifted his sword off hers to take another swipe, but she swung her own blade out at his legs from her crouched position, making him yowl in pain and stumble backwards.

Emma was on her feet and ready to fight in a moment. The man regained his balance, swearing up a storm as he charged towards Emma again. She blocked another swipe, ducking and taking her own jab at the man. He avoided it easily, and they began to duel in earnest. The man was a fierce fighter, ruthless and lethal, but Emma was no delicate flower. She matched him nearly blow for blow, and could almost feel the guard’s rising fury at not being able to beat her.

But, Emma was starting to feel fatigued. She hadn’t eaten since her lunch whatever day it had been she’d been kidnapped, and besides her head was still hurting quite terribly. The guard sensed that she was fading and increased his ferocity. The guard forced her back until she was up against the wall, their swords locked in between them. Her sword was precariously close to her own neck, and it took all her strength to keep the guard from pushing it any lower down. Literally trapped between a rock and hard place, Emma stomped hard on his foot, and he yelped in surprise. Using it, Emma pushed with all her might on her own sword, shoving the man back. He stumbled, and to her luck, he tripped over a loose rock, falling hard on his back and nearly taking Emma with him. She caught herself, and looked back instantly to the guard. He was muttering darkly to himself as he tried to rise again, but Emma couldn’t allow that. Raising the sword high above her head, she brought it firmly down on the man’s head.

He was instantly unconscious, head lolling to the side, the metal reverberation of her hit echoing through the cave. She kicked him slightly to roll him onto his side to prevent his airway from collapsing – she wasn’t a heartless monster, after all – and then, taking the momentary release to get her bearings, Emma looked to see what Killian was doing. He was still fighting the other guard, mostly one handed as he held his stomach with the other. There was a fresh cut on his left cheek, blood dripping down his face, but whatever his condition, he seemed to be defeating the guard he was duelling. He seemed quite calm and in control, as if he battled lethal warriors on a daily basis, which, Emma realized, he probably did.

Emma stepped forward, ready to help him in any way she could, but then her heart dropped. From her point of view, she saw that the first guard she had knocked with the torch had gotten to his feet again. He was advancing on Killian silently, another sword from god knows where raised; Killian was still engaged with the other guard and hadn’t noticed him at all.

“Killian!” Emma screamed. “Behind you!”

He glanced behind him for the quickest moment, and was just able to stop the new guard from decapitating him. Killian stumbled with the force of the deflect, leaving his left side exposed and open.

The other guard let out a cry of triumph and moved forward. Emma’s eyes followed him, and then, without thinking, lunged forward. She slammed into the guard, grabbing him around the waist and tackling him to the ground. His blow to Killian missed, but the sharp blade did not miss Emma. She felt the instantaneous pain in her right arm – _her sword arm, damn_ – as she and the guard settled into a heap on the ground. She was mostly on top of him, the man swearing and grunting in pain as he tried to gather the wind back into his lungs. Emma was frantically unsure what to do; she wanted to keep this guard away from Killian as much as possible because he was clearly injured and was dealing with the other guard now, but in attacking him, she had sent her sword flying and leaving her weaponless again.

But, as she looked around, to her surprise and relief where she had tackled the guard had put her next to her old friend the torch. She picked it up – ignoring the searing pain in her arm at any movement – and clocked the guard hard across the face with it; he twitched, but then became still.

She leaned back and off the guard, grasping painfully at her arm; her hand came away bloody. She wiped it on her dress, and unsteadily got to her feet.

Killian and the other guard were duelling now; they had locked swords overhead, the guard snarling in Killian’s face. They seemed to be an impasse, but as Emma watched, Killian jumped slightly, landing his left foot on the guard’s chest. He shoved backwards as hard as he could, sending the guard sprawling to the ground with a yell of alarm. As he sputtered on the ground, Killian stepped forward, and, just like Emma, brought the hilt of his sword down hard on the man’s head. The bang of metal on metal echoed unpleasantly through the air, the guard immediately collapsing back to the ground and moving no more.

The silence that descended then upon the tunnel was the loudest Emma had ever heard. She reached out for the wall with her left arm, leaning heavily against it and cradling her right arm to her chest.

“We – we did it,” she said shakily.

Killian leaned against the wall beside her, wincing in pain. “That we did. We make quite the team, Emma.” He grimaced again, and touched his stomach gingerly. “I think those bastards broke one of my ribs.”

Emma could almost laugh in relief. Dropping her head back against the wall, she took several deep breaths, trying to stop her hands from shaking and brushing them off on her now filthy dress, all remaining grease from the locks coming off with the sweat and blood. “If that’s all they broke, then we are lucky.”

He chuckled once, but then sobered quickly with a grimace of pain. “Ah, laughing. Shan’t do that again.” He glanced at Emma, and his eyes darkened at her bloody arm. “You’re hurt.”

She shrugged. “It’s fine, really –”

He snorted once, and to her surprise, bent down to kneel in front of her. He grimaced from the movement, but ripped a long strip of fabric from the bottom of Emma’s dress with no complaints. She didn’t even have time to open her mouth in outrage before Killian was standing again and tugging her arm away from her chest.

“Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Emma let Killian take her arm. Her sleeve was already drenched in blood; Killian frowned, and pushed up the ruined fabric to examine the damage. Emma peered curiously too; the wound was deeper than she would’ve hoped, but it wasn’t gushing blood anymore at least.

Killian frowned, but made no comment on it. As he began to bandage it, he did say, however, “You are quite the skilled fighter. More than just mere natural talent, although you clearly have a lot of that too. Who taught you to fight like that?”

“My – my father,” Emma said. It was the truth, but it felt like a lie; a farm girl learning from her father the farmer was much different than a princess learning from her father the king.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Your father is a farmer like you? I’ll have to meet this amazing warrior who toils away in the field instead of in an army one day.”

Emma laughed at the thought of the dirty and bloody pirate meeting her noble and majestic father. “That would be quite the sight.”

He smiled again, and with one last knot, he leaned away from Emma’s arm, admiring his work. She was impressed; he had bandaged it so effectively Emma would have thought he was the court doctor. He must have sensed her surprise, because his grin widened. “As a pirate, you learn to fix wounds on a daily basis.”

She nodded, and flexed her arm. It was bound tightly, and still hurt, but would be secure enough until they were out of here and to safety. “Thank you, Killian.”

She made to move away, but he caught her by the left arm, stopping her in her tracks. “No, thank you, Emma. The guards would have killed me before the hangman got his chance. You saved me.”

“You saved me first,” she countered, feeling slightly flustered under his intense sincerity. “Throwing me that key. It only seemed right.”

He smiled briefly, and released her arm. “Then I suppose we are even. Come on. Let’s get out of here before any of them come round.”

Killian was slightly unsteady by himself, and Emma had, before he could protest, wrapped a firm arm around his waist to support him along. It was much quicker than him just hobbling along by himself, and Emma couldn’t find herself minding too much at being so close to the pirate. He was heavy, but he still could mostly support himself; Emma just quickened his pace and kept up their momentum. Both still had their swords, Emma’s grasped in her injured arm while Killian had stuffed his through a belt at his waist.

Thankfully, it was so early in the morning that it seemed most of Regina’s guards were still asleep and the tall and intimidating hallways of the palace were empty as Killian and Emma blew through them all, their loud footsteps echoing twofold back to them. Neither had any idea where they were going; Killian said he had been to the palace only once before when working for the queen and it had been many years since then.

They came to the end of one corridor, a large circular window that looked down onto a spacious courtyard giving them an opportunity to see where exactly they were in the palace. In the centre of it stood the gallows that had awaited Killian this morning, but there was no one around it currently.

Emma glanced at Killian, but he wasn’t looking at what could very well have been his death. His eyes were staring far out over the courtyard.

“The sunrise,” he said, absently. “I thought I wouldn’t live to see another.”

She followed his gaze, and out to the rising sun. It was still low over the eastern mountains, casting scarlet rays out onto the valley of trees below and a warm orange glow that crowned each snowy peak in turn. The sky above was still twinkling with the remnants of the stars, struggling for life against the bright light.

Emma looked away from the sunrise, regarding the pirate in front of her instead.

She hadn’t studied him too closely before, but was now so very interested in this man who had saved her. He was probably the most handsome person Emma had ever seen and the royal courts were filled with all the glamourous and beautiful people you could imagine. But it wasn’t just his appearance; there was a roughness to the man beside her, a rawness and openness that felt so entirely natural and real. Staring at the rising sun like it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen in his life, he looked so very young. His cheek was still bleeding and there was a nasty bruise forming on his right temple, but framed by the rising sun and the warm pinks and oranges lighting his features, Emma didn’t think she had ever seen something so beautiful.

“You should come to sea with me,” Killian said abruptly, breaking whatever moment Emma had been having. “I think you’d like it,” he added, looking to her almost shyly, the shadow of long gone youth and innocent flickering in him still. “The wind in your hair, the smell of the sea air all around. And, you can teach my men how to fight; perhaps if they knew how to fight like you, I wouldn’t have been captured in the first place.”

She laughed. “Are you trying to lure me into becoming a pirate, Captain?”

He grinned wickedly, and the innocence was gone and replaced again with the pirate once more. “Perhaps; you’d make a hell of a good one.”

Emma laughed again, feeling surprisingly happy for the situation they were still in. “If we get out of here alive, I may take you up on that offer.”

He nodded. “Then let’s go; the sea awaits us.”

Emma put her arm around him again and they moved along. The courtyard was clearly at the wrong end of the palace they wanted to be at, so they turned and headed back the other way. After a few more wrong turns and endless hallways, they had nearly made it. A grand staircase appeared at the end of another long corridor, and opened up into a large foyer with two black doors that led to their freedom.

“There,” she panted, speeding up slightly and basically dragging him down the stairs beside her. “Come on, Killian, we’re almost –”

“Going somewhere?”

They didn’t even have time to turn around; a blast of magic hit them and sent them both spiralling into the air. Emma’s arms flailed wildly around her, her sword flying free and clattering away, and when she hit the hard marble of the floor at the base of the stairs, it knocked the breath from her. She lay, stunned, while stars danced around her head, but the approaching click of high heels made her scramble to her feet even while her head ached and protested.

Emma had never seen the Evil Queen in person before, but it could be no one else. Tall and beautiful, with rubies in her cascading dark curls and a blood red gown tight to her figure, she looked like the Queen of Hell herself descending the steps.

“Well, well, who do we have here?” Regina purred, coming to a stop a few feet in front of Emma. “Dear Emma! Does your mother know you’re here?”

Emma held her hand out warningly, chancing a glance to the side; Killian was still on the ground, staring up with slightly glazed eyes. Emma could see he had landed hard, his hands both clutching at his chest. She looked back to Regina, and swallowed her fear. “Don’t do anything stupid, Regina. You harm me and my parents will never stop hunting you.”

The queen rolled her eyes. “They have proven themselves incapable of killing me before, child. Another time won’t be any different. I can handle their rage when you are dead.” With a cool smile, suddenly, Regina was not in front of Emma any more. Emma yelped slightly in surprise at seeing the woman vanish in thin air, but then there was a cold metal against her neck and she instantly stopped moving.

“No sudden movements, dear,” Regina whispered into her ear, her breath sickly sweet and spiced perfume nearly overwhelming. “I would hate to accidentally slit this pretty little neck of yours.”

Emma swallowed, and chanced a glance over to Killian. He was still on the ground, but sitting half up now with one arm wrapped around his chest, glaring at Regina with pure hatred.

“Why couldn’t I use my magic in your cell?” Emma demanded, wasting as much time as she could and hoping Killian wasn’t as injured as he looked. “What enchantment did you cast on it?”

“Didn’t you ever wonder how the Dark One came to be captured all those years ago? You didn’t really believe the idiots you call parents would be able to contain him with simple enchantments, did you?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You are just as stupid as your mother. Squid ink. Have you really never heard of it? The ink has the ability to bind even the most powerful magic.”

Squid ink. Emma thought of the black grease that had covered the locks, and then her hands after she touched the lock. That was it. Of course. She chanced a glance down at her hands, but there was no more blackness on them; it had been washed away with her blood and sweat. Her magic was not bound anymore. Triumph began to sing in Emma’s mind, but she forced it down and made herself listen to whatever the hell Regina was still saying. She may have her powers again, but Regina still held a blade to her neck. Escape would have to be delicate.

“… I am surprised your mother never told you about the squid ink; I did not think she was capable of keeping anything a secret, especially something as important as squid ink. When I heard that was how she had captured the Dark One, I knew I needed some for myself just for an occasion like this. In fact, our dear friend the pirate here was the one to supply me with it several years ago. You stole it off some little mermaid, if I recall correctly, didn’t you, Captain?”

He had finally gotten to his feet; his face was ashen and the hand that had drawn his sword was shaking quite badly. “Regina –”

“Put your sword down, pirate,” Regina snapped. “Or have her blood on your hands.”

Killian hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty passing over his face. Emma tried to will him not to, but slowly, Killian lay the sword down at his feet and kicked it over to Regina.

“There,” he said. “Don’t hurt her.”

Regina laughed loudly, Emma wincing away from her at the sudden sound right in her ear. “Don’t hurt her? Don’t hurt her? This isn’t just any ordinary girl, pirate! Don’t you know who you have rescued?”

That threw him off, and he was now uncertain. His eyes flickered from Emma to Regina, and he frowned. “It doesn’t matter who –”

“She’s a princess, Captain,” Regina hissed. “You saved a _royal_. The same kind that murdered your brother you have now saved.” Regina’s grip tightened on the dagger; it was so sharp, and Emma couldn’t help a small whimper escape her as the razor edge ever so slightly cut her neck. Killian took a step forward at that, but Regina pressed it closer and he stopped in his tracks.

“Not a step more, Captain. Don’t be more foolish than you already have been. Do what I say, and all will be forgiven. I will even be generous to you. Scurry back to your little ship, my guards will not pursue you. You have a head start, and with your flair for disappearances, I shouldn’t think you would have trouble avoiding me forever. Leave now and you are free.”

For a wild moment, Emma thought he was considering it, but then he snorted. “Even if I was that stupid, you would never stop pursuing me, Regina.” He took a step forward again, eyes glinting. Regina’s hold tightened on the dagger, but Emma held in her whimper this time. She didn’t know what Killian was up to, but he was distracting Regina and Emma was able to focus intently on summoning her magic. “It doesn’t have to end this way. I can offer you anything you want; any item you wish to possess, I can get it for you. I will work for you again, Regina, I will do anything you desire. It can be as it was before; the _Jolly Roger_ will be yours to command. Just let Emma go; whatever harm she has done you cannot be worth more than having me again. The death of one girl would be nothing compared to all I could do for –”

Regina’s small giggle was truly evil. “You are sweet, but impulsive, Captain. I will bargain nothing for this girl’s life; she isn’t just any old princess who you can trade away your life for. Don’t you know who she is?”

“Clearly not,” Killian said, sounding frustrated. “But it doesn’t matter –”

“Of course it matters,” Regina whispered, but it carried through the entire foyer with the sound of a shout. “This, my dear, is the daughter of Snow White.”

He looked, horrified, towards Emma, and took a step forward again – he clearly knew what Regina was willing to do to harm Snow and anyone close to her – but with a small snort of derision and a flick of her wrist, Regina sent Killian sprawling back onto the floor.

This time, he did not stir from his place and Emma felt fear rise up in her at his unmoving form. She must’ve made some sort of sound, because Regina pressed the dagger tighter against her neck.

“Touching,” she whispered. “Caring for a man you don’t even know. So much like your mother you are.” The blade was pressed deeper against her then, and Emma could feel a hot trickle of blood running down her throat. “She killed the person I loved the most in the world,” Regina continued, “and now I will do the same to her.”

Emma gritted her teeth; Snow had told her the story of Daniel and Regina many times before; it was hardly Snow’s fault. “An innocent child is not to blame for his death, Regina. It wasn’t my mother who killed him. It was yours. Maybe if you stopped hating my mother for one moment you could see how twisted you have made the truth.”

Emma could feel the rage in Regina bubbling again, so she moved quickly. Her magic was already at her fingertips, and with a single thought, the knife at Emma’s neck dissolved into water. It drenched the front of her dress, and Regina jerked away in surprise.

“You –”

Emma twirled around, and faced Regina straight on. The queen still looked taken aback, and Emma took full advantage; sending out as much energy as she could muster, Emma blew the queen back with the force of a tornado.

Now it was her turn to fly through the air. The queen screamed and shrieked the whole way, before slamming heavily against the far wall, crying out in shock before crumbling into a silent heap.

Emma’s heart was beating frantically, and she could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she tentatively touched her neck. The wound wasn’t as deep as she had feared, and with her magic restored, the wound healed easily under her fingertips.

Killian was still down, but now was looking at least conscious. Emma ran over to him, sinking down onto her knees beside him. He mumbled something incoherent and tried to sit up, but Emma pushed him back down. “Let me heal you; it will only take a moment.” She rested her hand on his upper stomach, closing her eyes and focusing. She could feel the magic working already, and when Killian let out a deep breath of surprise and relief, Emma knew the job was done.

She opened her eyes and he was staring at her in awe. “So you do have magic,” he murmured, and Emma laughed. She tugged on him to sit upright, and then to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

The heavy doors were easy to open with a suggestion from Emma’s magic and the guards outside there easily dispatched with another blast.

From then, they ran. And ran. They didn’t stop running for what seemed like forever. Emma’s side was aching, and she was starting to feel slightly light headed from lack of sleep, no food and probably a concussion. She forced herself to keep going, and once they reached the end of the road, panting and sweating, they came to a stop. The road forked here, and Emma almost instinctively knew she and he would be going different routes.

Killian sensed it too, and he looked almost reluctant to leave. Neither spoke for a good while, until Emma, unable to keep it in any more, blurted out, “Would you have really gone back to serve her? For my freedom?”

He shrugged, but didn’t meet her eyes. “I wouldn’t have lasted long with her even if she had accepted my offer; we tend to bite each other’s heads off. It wouldn’t have been a permanent arrangement.”

It was as close an answer as she was going to get. Emma stared at him, touched. She didn’t know what to say, before finally settling on, “You are much more than a pirate.”

Chuckling, Killian smiled. “And you are much more than a princess.”

They smiled at each other for a few moments, and then a twig snapped behind them. Both instantly turned, Killian drawing his sword, but when a sweet little bunny hopped away a few moments later, they both relaxed and laughed in relief.

“Well, I guess you’ve got to get back to your crew,” Emma said then, feeling a sudden sense of loneliness at the thought of separating from the pirate who had been her only companion against certain death.

He nodded slowly. “And you to your kingdom,” he said quietly. Sheathing his sword, he leaned forward, grasping her hand. He pulled it to his face, and kissed it with soft lips. “Goodbye Emma. It was a pleasure to meet you indeed. Perhaps one day our paths will cross again.”

Her thoughts were a swirl of emotions as Emma watched him walk down the lane off to the left; a part of her was shouting for her to run after him, that she wasn’t done with him yet, but another, more rational part was telling her that her parents would be worried sick about her, and that if she lingered a moment longer on Regina’s territory, she could be captured again.

And so, Emma turned away, swallowing her indecision and ignoring the bitter taste, and headed into the inky darkness of the forest. If she had looked back for a moment more, she might have seen that Killian had taken his own turn to pause and watch her walk away into the depths of the trees, the same expression Emma wore on her face written identically on his.

<>

Four months after escaping the Evil Queen’s dungeon, life had returned to normal for Emma. Her parents had nearly declared war on the deposed queen for holding her prisoner, but Emma had convinced them that that would create nothing but countless of dead bodies and was a fruitless pursuit of revenge. They had reluctantly agreed, and since then, Emma had resumed her duties as Crown Princess of the realm with nary a complaint. It was back to business: meetings with advisors and drawing up drafts of new laws for her mother’s approval and this ball and that party. Even with all the business of her life that she had buried herself in to keep the nightmares of the Evil Queen and her guards away, every now and then the strangely bittersweet memories of the pirate captain would flit through her mind.

In particular, the last memory of him walking down into the heavy fog had the tendency to appear in her dreams. It would be woven into strange scenarios where she would think he had turned around and ran after her, or she had been the one running after him and all manner of other situations, but she would awake alone in her bed, twisted in her sheets with the same peculiar hollow feeling deep in her belly and frustration at why she kept having the same dreams.

She had tried to put him out of her mind, to move on and return to her life as Crown Princess, but something within her had changed and Emma just needed to know more. With the little information she had gathered from the pirate, Emma had done some research. There were indeed reports of a pirate called Killian Jones who matched the general appearance and age of the Killian she had been imprisoned with.

It was no wonder he had been in jail, Emma had noted, as she learned more and more about the man who had helped her escape. Regina may have imprisoned him for betrayal, but he was a pirate captain well-known for laying waste to any and all royal ships who crossed his path, no matter what kingdom they belonged to and he had warrants for his arrest in several countries. To her surprise, those countries also included her own.

And, partly for that reason, she hadn’t mentioned that it was him who had escaped with her. Her parents had demanded to know who it had been so they could reward him for aiding her, but Emma had kept as silent as a ghost every time he was brought up.

Killian was a criminal, and, from what Emma knew of him now, her parents would not reward him, but just throw him right back in. And besides, if her father found out that notorious pirate Killian Jones had been within ten feet of his daughter, there would be nowhere safe in any of the kingdoms from Charming, who unlike his nickname, could be the exact opposite.

Even the thought of protecting Killian from the wrath of her parents – _protecting a pirate captain, honestly_ and _he can clearly take care of himself_ – made her feel silly and foolish. With a firm, _he’s gone, he’s a pirate, Emma, get yourself together,_ she would force thoughts of the captain out of her mind.

On one bright afternoon, Emma was sat at her father’s large council table, pouring over some new proposals for a new bridge in the central of the city that was both too outlandishly expensive and extremely necessary at the same time. The old bridge was rickety and from the time of two kings ago, and the people had been complaining for years that one rainfall too much and the whole thing would be swept away, them and their wares included.

It was a headache, trying to sort out how to accommodate all the new regulations for bridges that had appeared in the past two generations, but also do it affordably without raising taxes too terribly much because as much as the bridge was needed, the people would be furious if they had to pay an arm and a leg for it. Emma had just about had enough and was ready to go throw the planning off the side of the old bridge and say to hell with it all, they would just have to get a cheaper design with less ornamentation, when a sharp knock at the door pulled her attention away anyways.

“Enter,” she called, leaning back in her chair and tossing the parchments away from her, sighing in relief. Any interruption was welcome at this point.

The great oak doors opened and a servant entered the room. He approached the table with a brisk walk, shoes snapping loudly in the cavernous hall. Once he reached her, he bowed, and held out a palm sized envelope to her. “A letter for you, Your Grace.”

She sat straighter in her chair, and frowned when she looked closer at the letter in the servant’s gloved hand. It had only her first name written on it, sprawled across the envelope in an elegant cursive. She accepted the note and dismissed the servant with a quick thanks. As his footsteps clicked away and the doors swung shut behind him, Emma turned the letter over. No one, save her closest friends and family wrote her letters addressed simply to ‘Emma’, but this was written in none of their hands, nor with any of their official seals. In fact, this one had no seal at all, and was held closed with only plain blue wax.

She turned it over again, trying to recognize the writing but to no avail. She was slightly wary then, unsure of who could possibly have sent her the note. Ever since escaping Regina’s dungeon all those months ago, the old queen had been raising a lot of hell and Emma wouldn’t put it past her to send her a cursed letter that would melt her fingers off or explode in her face or some other unpleasant consequence Regina was so fond of.

Tossing the letter onto the ornate table, Emma rose to her feet. Taking a deep breath and allowing her magic to bubble to the surface, Emma pushed it out towards the letter. As she watched, it began to glow a soft gold, her name shining out in pure white light, before the entire letter faded back to normal.

Safe, Emma thought bemusedly. Huh.

No other reason to delay, Emma broke open the wax seal. There was a crisp sheet of parchment within and in the same graceful handwriting as her name there were only three words, but that was all it took for Emma to know exactly who it was from and to have her already on her way out the door, calling for the servants to ready her horse immediately.

_The sea awaits_.


End file.
